


Of Hellhounds and Soul-Sucking Apparitions

by whymzycal



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whymzycal/pseuds/whymzycal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kougaiji's a vampire king in exile. Hot manservant Dokugakuji comes along and jollies him out of it. Some blood (both licking and sucking, but not much), but that's because, you know, vampire!Kougaiji.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hellhounds and Soul-Sucking Apparitions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for velvetina_wonka as part of the 7thnight_smut exchange on LJ in August 2008. _Saiyuki_ and its characters belong to Kazuya Minekura, not me.

"…glowing red eyes and sharp, pointed teeth!" Old Nob slammed his tankard of ale down on the scarred wooden table for emphasis. A few drops sloshed over the rim to dampen his sleeve, and Nob brought his wrist to his lips, licking at the spilled ale with relish before he continued. "The poor calf was torn right in half, the wounds covered in a thick, gooey spittle that burned to the touch! And my nephew said the figure crouched over the calf looked straight at him, those eyes piercing him to his very soul and making his knees weak before he fell to the ground, senseless." Gasps of incredulity met this statement, and Old Nob nodded vigorously. "The poor lad wasn't himself for a month, weak and swooning in the fields by noon every day! He's still too timid to follow the sheep on his own, three years later. Even with Fang at his side!" Nob's voice lowered a little to a drunkard's too-loud whisper. "He said… he said he could remember cold, cold hands at his throat and the smell of blood. And," Old Nob's loud whisper cut through the expectant silence and the pipe-smoke, "he woke the next morning with his collar torn and _marks like love-bites on his neck!_"

From his seat in the corner, Jien snorted into his own tankard of ale.

"It's true!" Old Nob cried over the murmurs of his rapt audience. "Tinkers and the like used to sometimes disappear when they camped by the moor road. And more than one young man or woman has seen the hellhounds wreathed in flames and heard the demonic shouts of those soul-sucking apparitions!"

"Nob! Quit your tale-telling, you drunken old fool!" The mistress of the tavern stumped over and cuffed Old Nob, who cowered and folded himself protectively around his half-finished drink. "You'll be quiet now, or I'll have the rest of that ale!" She shook her fist in front of his nose. "Telling stories of impossible goings-on. Your nephew's always been a delicate lad given to flights of fancy, and those tinkers moved on in the night of their own accord rather than be run off by Lady Gyokumen's men. You know that as well as I do!" She shook her head in disgust. "As for the hellhounds and apparitions, I've never seen more than his Lordship's white wolfhounds running down rabbits or his Lordship's men riding in the mist at first light."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" asked Nob rather feistily. "Always shut up safely in this tavern with your old man at night when the real trouble happens!" He let out a rusty, undignified squeak when his tankard was yanked out of his hand. The squeak turned into a wail as he watched Esme swallow the rest of his drink. She sighed heavily and wiped the foam from her mouth when she'd finished.

"I warned you, Nob, you old goat. You know the village has been much safer and the roads less dangerous since his Highness replaced his stepmother as the keeper of the castle. Stop stirring up trouble, stop trying to rouse the crowd, and stop speaking ill of our Prince Kougaiji!" Esme dropped the tankard in front of Nob and turned on her heel, stalking back to the bar.

"…s'not my prince," Nob muttered somewhat forlornly into his now-empty mug. Old Nob's audience had drifted away, even those seated near him looking pointedly in other directions. It seemed they had no interest in getting on Esme's bad side.

Jien stood and strode over to Old Nob, stooping a little to drop his own half-full tankard in front of the old fellow. "There you are, grandfather," he said kindly. "I have a long way to travel, and it's best I get started now. If I stay to finish the rest of that excellent ale, chances are I'd be here all night and in no condition to walk the roads until morning." Old Nob looked up, his eyes swimming with grateful tears.

"Bless you, my son! You're a comfort to an old man in a cruel world, you are. As generous as my own children should be!" A gnarled hand patted Jien's arm, and arthritic fingers clutched at the fabric of his sleeve when he would have walked away. Nob tugged and pulled on Jien's coat until Jien leaned down.

"What is it?"

"My nephew may be delicate, it's true. And his Lordship does have white wolfhounds, and there might be truth to what Esme says about the village being a mite safer now. But I know he's just biding his time. Prince Kougaiji is just as cold and strange and dangerous as his stepmother was, no matter how good for the village he seems to be. Comes of being foreign-born, it does. He's secretive and standoffish. We ne'er see him during the light of day, and he hardly ever leaves the castle. Not even for festivals! Even her Ladyship came to a festival now and again. Or sent her man to the festivals on her behalf." Old Nob sniffed and wiped his nose messily on his sleeve. Jien tried to move away discreetly, but Nob's gnarled fingers had a strong grip on his coat, and he jerked Jien down again. "Tinkers and the young men and women here might not go missing as often as they used to, and they might not fall sick with strange marks on their necks like my nephew so much anymore, but listen well: there _are_ hellhounds, and there are apparitions what could steal your soul. I've seen 'em halfway across the moor in the mist at night, and I've heard 'em baying fit to wake the demons of hell before dawn."

"What, the apparitions bay, too?" Jien couldn't help himself. Old Nob let go of his sleeve and poked Jien's shoulder with a bony fingertip.

"I'm not spinning yarns, boy. The moor road is still dangerous at night. If you won't be cautious of the specters eager to flay the skin from your bones and eat your flesh – _though you should, you thankless whippersnapper_ – at least be wary of the highwaymen. They still lurk across t'other side of his Lordship's lands and venture down the moor road when the mood strikes 'em."

"I'm grateful for your warning, grandfather," Jien said. "Highwaymen sound like much more trouble than your specters." He straightened and moved away quickly, his gaze meeting Esme's as he headed for the door. Her brows rose, and she looked pointedly over Jien's shoulder. Jien looked back and smiled – Old Nob was guzzling the last of Jien's ale, smacking his lips and rolling his eyes in delight.

Jien was still smiling a good while later as he made his way down the dirt road leading out of the village and across the moor. He tried whistling for a bit, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, but the notes bounced oddly through the mist that was creeping from off the moor and into the road. His smile disappeared entirely when a chill wind blew across his path, and he shivered. Perhaps he ought to have stayed in the village for the night. If things kept going this way, it might even start to rain. Jien looked up but was relieved to see large patches of starry sky. Those weren't rain clouds, then. He'd at least stay dry tonight, assuming that the mist didn't grow much thicker. He hunched his shoulders and kept walking, lost in his own thoughts and not paying attention until he heard a high, thin shriek pierce the gloom. His head snapped up, and he caught sight of a dull yellow glow a few hundred yards ahead. Shadows flickered in the mist, and the shriek came again.

Jien ran.

He was a very large man: tall and broad, built like a sturdy oak. But he could be quiet when the need arose, and in no time at all, he had silently covered the distance to the wavering shadows and the illumination from a fallen lamp and a few scattered torches. He took in the sight of a slender, dark-haired beauty on her knees in front of a rough-looking brigand in a tattered black greatcoat. Another rough fellow stood slightly to the side, her wrists clamped in his hands. Only two, then. This would go quickly. Jien sprinted for the one with his hands free, coming in low with his shoulder set, and hit him from the side. Tattered Greatcoat went down like a sack of potatoes, Jien landing on top of him with a strategically placed elbow. Jien grinned as Greatcoat curled in on himself, eyes and mouth wide as he waited for his lungs to start working again. Jien was already getting back to his feet when he heard a muffled grunt off to his side.

The woman had thrown herself back and aimed a kick at the knees of the man holding her, but as her backward movement unbalanced him, he let go of her wrists and twisted to the side. Her foot glanced harmlessly off of his thigh, so Jien didn't wait to see what would happen next. He sprang forward, fists at the ready, and threw several quick, heavy punches at the other man's face and midsection. He rocked backward as a jab got through his guard, and his vision went red, his eye suddenly stinging from the blood that dripped into it. Disgusted with himself, Jien quickly swiped his sleeve across his forehead and kicked out sideways at the same time. His opponent hadn't been expecting the maneuver, and he folded around Jien's foot before crumpling to the dirt. Jien ran his sleeve across his forehead again and turned to the woman. She'd gotten to her feet and was eyeing him – not warily, but appraisingly. Jien opened his mouth, intending to ask her whether she was unhurt, but he never quite got all the way there. The sound of hoofbeats coming from off to the left caught his attention, and he whirled to face the new threat, motioning for her to stay behind him.

"You should run. Back to the village if you can." Blood dripped into Jien's eye, blurring his vision again. "Damn!"

"No, it's all right." Her voice was steady, with the hint of an accent that he'd never heard before. He glanced over his shoulder to find her no more than an arm's length behind him. "That's his Highness. Lord Kougaiji!" Her shout startled Jien, and he flinched slightly at its volume. He covered for the motion by bringing his hand up to knuckle more blood out of his eye. "Lord Kougaiji!"

A dark horse emerged from the mist, the figure on its back dressed in a soft gray that echoed the shade of the mist that swirled around him. Jien caught the impression of long, dark reddish hair, severe but handsome features, and penetrating eyes before the point of a sword distracted him.

"Yaone." The rider's voice was smooth and low and calm, almost hypnotic despite its cold tone. "You are unhurt." It was a statement, though his eyes never left Jien once to look at the woman. …Yaone, Jien supposed it was.

"Lord Kougaiji, this man came to my rescue." Yaone moved closer to grip the horse's bridle. Her words appeared to have no effect; the rider still didn't shift his gaze to her, and his expression hadn't changed in the slightest.

"You are not from the village; I've never seen you before. Why are you here, on my land?" This Kougaiji fellow had the same sort of accent that Yaone did, though his was softer and even less noticeable. Jien bit back his irritation and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. He froze as he felt the sword's point press into the fabric of his coat – not touching his skin, but putting pressure on his arm nonetheless.

"Lord Kougaiji!"

"I'm just passing through. Sir." Jien didn't takes his eyes off of the _lord_ or _prince_ or whatever he was. He couldn't. It was more than just having a sword close enough to slash through the muscle of his arm. There was something about this Kougaiji… Something that reminded Jien of…

"To where?" The question was sharp, and Jien answered quickly, without thinking.

"Nowhere. Anywhere."

"Oh?" The pressure on his arm intensified, but Jien refused to acknowledge it.

"I'm just looking for somewhere to belong." He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't being used as an overly large pincushion, and his fingers twitched as blood ran down his cheek and dripped onto his shirt. The sword retreated, and Jien was about to reach for his pocket again – slowly, this time – when a square of soft white cloth flashed in front of his face. Jien grabbed it reflexively; he didn't like having his vision obscured, particularly when he was already having trouble seeing out of one eye and in the presence of an unsheathed sword. The prince drew his hand back, now relieved of the handkerchief, and waved dismissively when Jien opened his mouth to ask what was going on.

"Please…" Yaone began, but Jien had already raised the handkerchief to his brow and was wiping the blood away. It welled up once more, rather sluggishly, and Jien sighed as he scrubbed the soft cloth across his forehead again.

"What would you do, if you belonged?" the prince asked. His eyes still hadn't left Jien, but the intensity of his gaze had changed: Jien no longer felt as though he was being challenged. Tested, perhaps, but no longer challenged.

"Whatever needed doing, I suppose. I've worked in a stable before, and I'm good with horses. I've worked as a valet, for an old gentleman several weeks' travel to the east. I've even worked in the fields."

"Perhaps you might belong here, then." The prince held his hand out to Yaone, his eyes still on Jien. She took it, and Jien moved towards her, intending to help her up onto the horse, but the prince stopped him with an upheld palm. "That is unnecessary." He finally looked away from Jien and down at Yaone, who swung herself up behind him with no effort whatsoever. She arranged her skirts as demurely as she could and gently settled her hands at the prince's waist for balance. "You may follow us. At the least, I would like to offer you lodging for the night in gratitude for Yaone's rescue. And perhaps… Yes, perhaps you might find that you belong here, after all." The prince twitched the reins, and the horse turned. Jien blinked, dazed. He truly wanted to know – what in the blazes was going on here?

"But what about—" he began. Prince Kougaiji glanced back at him, and then at the two dark figures still crumpled in the road.

"They will be retrieved by my men shortly, to be taken to the local magistrate." His cool tone seemed to indicate that he could make the ruffians lie there all night in the cold and the damp with or without the assistance of his men, simply because he wished it. Jien wasn't sure whether to admire the prince's confidence or be irritated by his arrogance. Maybe the situation called for a bit of both, he thought as the horse continued, its riders no longer paying him any attention. Jien grinned at the back of Prince Kougaiji's head. He was either going to really like this fellow or despise him with every fiber of his being. Finding out which it was going to be should prove very interesting, indeed.

_ _ _ _ _

 

After a few months as the prince's valet, Jien was certain that he liked Lord Kougaiji immensely. For one, the prince had never insisted that anyone call him by title that Jien could see; it looked as though his people were the ones to insist upon that courtesy. Jien had tested this theory by dropping the "Highness" and "Prince" first, and then eventually getting rid of "Lord," too. While the other servants were scandalized – Yaone had nearly fainted the first time Jien had addressed the prince by name alone, without any sort of title attached – the man himself hadn't so much as raised an eyebrow. The occasional "sir," it seemed, was respectful enough. For another, despite the fact that he seemed to be aloof and unapproachable, the prince wasn't cruel or unfeeling. He never struck a servant for making a mistake, he never raised his voice in anger, and he never made anyone in the castle feel like they were worth less than he himself was. How he managed to accomplish that without dropping his lordly demeanor, Jien wasn't certain, but he supposed it had something to do with the hidden warmth in his eyes. Prince Kougaiji's body language and facial expressions fairly clamored "standoffish" and "untouchable," but there was something in his eyes that reminded Jien of his long-abandoned little brother. The prince's dark violet-blue eyes hinted at a capacity for attachment and kindness while the rest of him camouflaged it behind a wall of cold indifference, as though Kougaiji feared revealing his true self. Jien could understand that. After all, he was hiding a bit of himself, too, in an effort to erase the shame of his past.

And it didn't hurt that the prince was devastatingly handsome, if in a rather severe and brooding sort of way. As his body-servant, Jien had had the pleasure of seeing the prince in various stages of undress, and he'd had the even greater pleasure of helping him to get that way, even if only for bathing.

"Dokugakuji." Jien – no, Dokugakuji now – turned at the sound of Yaone's voice.

"It's just 'Doku,' Yaone," he said, reaching out to take the heavy supper tray from her. He still thought of himself as "Jien" occasionally, but the more he answered to the new name he'd taken, the more he felt that he was becoming "Doku." Which was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To forget about little Gojyo and the mother he'd been unable to save? To put that all behind him?

"It's disrespectful." Yaone's pursed lips made Doku grin. They both knew who she really meant when she said "disrespectful."

"No, it's friendly. Nothing wrong with being friendly." He winked at her cheekily as he backed through the open door and into Prince Kougaiji's sitting room, where the prince was waiting for his final meal of the day. Of course, it was only an hour until dawn, but was the way of things here. It had taken Doku nearly the whole of the past three months to become accustomed to the way Houtou castle was run, but once he'd adjusted his internal clock and expectations, he had to admit that it made far more sense for the castle to sleep during the day and wake up at night. After all, it wasn't like the prince could go off gallivanting in the bright light of the day, what with his bizarre tendency to grow weak and ill in the sunlight. Apparently his mother had suffered from the same affliction and died from it when he was fairly young. A handful of years after that, the prince's father had been killed and Kougaiji himself had become king of his small foreign country, rushing home from travels abroad to take charge of his kingdom. He'd found his little realm left in chaos by his stepmother, and it had taken him a goodly while to run her out of the country and put things right. Unfortunately, no more than a year or two later, the once-beloved prince – king, now – faced a bizarre and ugly uprising. The deposed Kougaiji and his faithful retainers had fled once it became clear that the populace had been turned against him forever.

Kougaiji and his people had come to Houtou to live out their lives in a more or less peaceful exile. Doku'd learned that the prince's maternal grandfather had been the original lord of this castle, before he'd married his foreign princess, and Kougaiji now – quite fortuitously – held the land and titles. Things had finally become truly peaceful for the prince and his people once they'd displaced his stepmother, who had made her way to Houtou and managed to occupy the castle while King Kougaiji restored order to his kingdom. It was her decadent, outlandish habits that had given rise to rumors like those gleefully repeated by Old Nob. But when Doku considered that she was likely responsible for turning the prince's kingdom against him from halfway across the world, maybe the tales of slavering hellhounds and soul-sucking apparitions weren't too farfetched. The whole story had made Dokugakuji's head spin the first time he'd heard it: it had sounded precisely like one of the improbable plots in the novels that his mother had liked to read when he was a small boy – before his father brought his half-brother home and she had become so troubled.

"Your supper," Doku said, setting the tray down. The prince didn't eat much, which likely explained why he was so slender. But he was also strong; Doku had seen him sparring with Zakuro, the swordmaster, in the courtyard. The two men had seemed well-matched in speed, grace, and strength, though the advantage had ultimately gone to the prince. Not that Dokugaku had been ogling, mind. His had been a purely professional interest in the well-being of his employer.

"Thank you." The prince reached for the heavy goblet filled with a rich, thick red liquid. It was, Yaone said, a very special imported wine that she used as the base for the prince's medicinal draught. Small flecks of powdered herbs floated on the top of the drink and clung to the sides of the goblet, and a few remained on the prince's lip when he finished the last swallow. Doku leaned forward and gently wiped the prince's mouth; Kougaiji drew back imperceptibly.

"Forgive me, sir," Doku murmured. He wasn't really sorry. He knew it, and he was aware that the prince knew it, too. It was simply that Doku was certain the prince would be much happier if he'd just let his indifferent façade drop, and he had every intention of making that happen. He hadn't been able to help his mother or little brother find happiness, but the prince… The prince could know happiness. Doku had only to close the distance that the prince kept between himself and his people. He'd already made a good start, and the prince had – wittingly or not – let him. Doku planned to continue taking advantage until he won the game.

"Tell the stablemaster to saddle my horse, Dokugakuji," the prince said quietly after a few minutes had passed.

"Kou?" Doku's surprise jerked the shortened version of the prince's name from his lips. The prince frowned; he didn't appear to be accustomed to having his orders questioned. "But sunrise is in an hour; isn't that dangerous?"

"The fog will be thick all day, so the sunlight will not be a problem. I must meet with the magistrate, and it is inconvenient to do business in the evening hours." Kougaiji lifted a piece of bread to his mouth and bit into it.

"But it won't take you that long to get to the magistrate's. Would he be there so soon after sunrise?" Doku objected. He watched as the prince took another bite of bread. The way Kougaiji's crumb-dusted lips pressed together made it difficult for him to look away.

"I have other business to attend to before I meet with the magistrate."

Doku tried again. "Shall I have a second horse saddled, then? I could go with you."

"No." The word was flat, dismissive. "Zakuro will accompany me. I wish for you to have my bath ready when I return." Doku lowered his eyes, masking his disappointment. The prince wasn't making it any easier to close the distance between them, but then, Doku wasn't particularly surprised by that. Prince Kougaiji was used to being far above his people – utterly untouchable in more ways than one – and none of them seemed to have made any sort of effort to reach out to him, one person to another. They respected him, yes, and even loved him, but none of them thought of him as a man like any other. And that, Dokugakuji was certain, was what the prince really wanted – it was why he let Doku take the liberties he did. All things considered, Doku realized, he wasn't displeased with the progress he'd made during the time he'd been at the castle. And perhaps his being left behind might prove to be an opportunity in his favor.

"Very good, sir. I'll be waiting for you to return, then."

"Thank you." The prince's voice was soft, and he rested his hand briefly on Doku's shoulder as he walked past him, the remainder of his meal untouched. "It will make my tasks easier, knowing that I will find everything as I wish when I return home."

The light weight of Kougaiji's hand on his shoulder stayed with Doku for the next several hours, through the sunrise and into the late morning. The prince had never touched him in a friendly manner and of his own volition before, and Doku was both elated and confused. Did this mean what he hoped it meant? Was the prince truly beginning to thaw, or was he just using Doku's own tactics to unbalance him? He spent the whole of the time between the prince's departure and his return wondering what that simple gesture really meant, and by the time Kougaiji finally strode through the wide front doors and up the stairs to his rooms, Doku was even more uncertain than he had been. He had half a mind to ask the prince outright, but the question died in his throat when stepped into the prince's lush living quarters and saw Kougaiji sitting on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped. His skin seemed almost colorless – it was far too pale, even for someone who never spent time in the sunlight – and he had dark bluish-purple rings under his eyes. He looked, Dokugakuji thought, like a man who'd ridden to the ends of the earth and back, only to return home to find his wife married to another man and his children calling his replacement "papa."

"Kougaiji? Are you all right?" Doku came to stand next to the prince and let his hand fall to the prince's shoulder, echoing the gesture that had tied him in knots all morning. Kougaiji allowed the contact, not even turning his head to look at Doku disapprovingly.

"My business this morning didn't go as well as I might have wished, and the sun broke through the fog for the last mile of the ride back. I feel a little drained, nothing more." Doku gave Kougaiji's shoulder an encouraging squeeze and was inordinately pleased when the prince didn't ease out from under his hand. _He must be very fatigued after all_, he thought.

"Shall I call Yaone? She could mix some of your medicine; that would help."

"No. I wish for nothing more than a bath and some sleep."

"Very good, sir." Doku removed his hand from the prince's shoulder with some regret and moved to kneel in front of him. He took the prince's booted foot in his hands and tugged, frowning when the boot stuck fast. "This is why you have a bootjack," he muttered to himself, tugging again. The prince pointed then flexed his foot, and the boot slid free.

"What was that?" Kougaiji asked as Doku wrapped his large hands around the other boot.

"Nothing, sir." Doku got the second boot off with less effort and stood up to pull the prince to his feet. He let his own warm hand clasp the prince's cool one for a second longer than usual, and the prince didn't pull away first as he normally would have done. Doku let go a little reluctantly and reached for the buttons marching down the front of the prince's silk waistcoat. Kougaiji allowed himself to be helped out of his waistcoat and shirt, but he took care of his breeches and smallclothes himself while Doku tried very hard not to be obvious as he watched. One of the things Doku enjoyed most about the prince was his fastidiousness. Doku was allowed to see Prince Kougaiji wet and naked (or wet and half-naked) every day, and most of the time, though the prince preferred not to be bothered during his ablutions, Doku would be there to hand him a towel or to hold the prince's robe while he dried himself off. It was, Doku thought, one of the more pleasant of his duties.

"Thank you," Kougaiji said softly. He walked over to the large tub standing in front of the fireplace and climbed in, sighing gratefully as the water rose up to his chest.

"Would you like me to build up the fire?"

"This will do." The prince waved a wet hand dismissively then reached for the sponge, so Doku turned to collect discarded clothes and tidy up the bedchamber for a few minutes before he ducked out to get a tea tray from the kitchen. When he returned after a short while, he listened with half an ear for the sounds of softly splashing water, but heard nothing. He set the tray down, surprised. The prince hadn't taken such a short bath since Doku had become his valet, but then… Dokugakuji peered around the corner and smiled. The prince hadn't fallen asleep in his bath before, either.

Prince Kougaiji asleep wasn't a new sight for Doku, but the prince asleep and looking this vulnerable – his complexion still noticeably pallid despite a slight flush from the heat of the bathwater, his brow furrowed and his lips parted as though mid-sigh – was something new, indeed. Doku didn't really want to wake him, but he wasn't certain how the prince would react to lounging in the bath until he was as soft and wrinkled as a rum-soaked sultana. And seeing him like this made Doku – made the part of him that was still Jien – want to take care of him for a little while. It made Doku want to stand at his side and shore him up, to be there to support him so he didn't have to be so strong all the time. It made Doku want to be there so that the prince might simply be _himself_ for an hour or two without any consideration for what he thought he was supposed to be.

The sponge was floating in the water, so Doku lifted it and wrung it out gently. Droplets pattered softly into the bathwater and onto the prince, who opened his eyes slowly and blinked uncomprehendingly at Dokugakuji.

"Lean forward." Doku pushed the prince's hand back into the water when he reached for the sponge, still half-asleep. He nudged Kougaiji between the shoulder blades, and the prince obligingly bent forward, clasping his knees and resting his forehead on his hands, his eyes still half-closed. Doku pulled Kougaiji's long, wet hair aside and then draped it over the prince's shoulder before he began to wash him, moving the soapy sponge in slow, firm circles over the prince's flushed skin. Kougaiji sighed in contentment, and Dokugakuji involuntarily squeezed the sponge as a frisson of heat shot down his spine. He continued with the gentle circular motions until the prince spoke.

"Surely my back must be clean by now, Dokugakuji." His voice was as cool and quiet as always, though a bit blurred with fatigue or pleasure; Doku couldn't tell which it was.

"So it is, sir." Doku hid a small smile. Kougaiji held out a hand for the sponge, and Doku quirked his eyebrow as he briefly considered holding onto it and offering to wash the rest of the prince. He thought better of it when he saw Kougaiji's eyes begin to narrow. It was best not to antagonize the man when he was obviously tired and when he'd already been far more lenient than Doku had anticipated. Instead, he rose and moved to the other side of the tub to unfold the large, thick towel he'd placed near the fire so that it would be warm when the prince was ready to leave his bath. As he opened and shook out the towel, Kougaiji stood and lifted a large pitcher from the small table by the tub. He upended it over his head, and the water sluiced over his face and ran in small, winding rivulets down the flat planes of his abdomen and across the muscles of his shoulders and back. Doku licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. He wanted to press his mouth to the prince's warm, wet skin and lick the moisture from it; he wanted to know what the prince tasted like. Kougaiji blinked the water from his eyes and caught him watching. Doku looked away as his cheeks colored slightly, covering his blush by spreading the towel wide so that the prince could step into it.

"Dokugakuji," began the prince, but Doku ignored him. Rather than letting go of the towel as soon as Kougaiji had wrapped himself in it, Doku began to dry the prince, concentrating on making soft, even sweeps with the folds of cloth gathered in his hands. He moved to stand in front of Kougaiji and then knelt, taking his time as he dried the prince's stomach and legs, carefully avoiding looking up at him. He was preparing to stand up again when he risked a glance upward. The prince was watching him, the look in his eyes unguarded for once and revealing something between hunger and longing. Doku's breath caught in his throat as their eyes met, and he looked away quickly, his hands clenching into tight fists in the towel as his descending gaze swept over the prince's groin.

Prince Kougaiji was half-hard. Doku licked his lips again and exhaled loudly, his eyes riveted to the sight in front of him. As his warm breath gusted over the prince's groin, he felt a cool hand touch his cheek. Dokugaku took the touch as permission and dropped the towel, raising his hands to splay them over the lower half of the prince's stomach. He slid his palms across Kougaiji's fire-warmed skin, his fingers curving over the prince's sharp hip bones. Doku flicked his gaze upward one last time, and when the prince made no move to either encourage or deny him, he opened his mouth and guided the hot, velvet-soft tip of the prince's swelling erection between his lips. He explored the folds of the prince's foreskin, gently sliding it back and tracing the shape of the smooth skin beneath with his tongue. Kougaiji's fingers raked through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and Dokugaku hummed a little in pleasure. The prince leaned forward in response, seeking more of the vibrations, so Doku slid his tongue down the prince's shaft, opening his mouth a little wider and sucking as he went. Kougaiji curled his fingers in Doku's hair, tugging, and Doku mirrored him by curling his tongue, drawing a gasp from the prince above him. He breathed in deeply, smelling the expensive soap the prince had used in his bath and, underneath that, the hint of an earthy musk that was the prince alone.

Kougaiji let out a soft, shuddering sigh as Doku moved his hand downward, stroking and teasing the sensitive skin that led from the prince's hip to the reddish-brown curls at his groin. He slid his fingertips lower, and the prince let out another sound as Doku gently caressed the soft sac of his balls and teased the hot, smooth skin behind them. With his other hand, still at the prince's hip, he pulled insistently, encouraging the prince to move. Kougaiji began to rock forward, over and over again, slowly at first and then faster, sinking deeper and deeper into Dokugakuji's mouth. Doku could feel the prince trembling beneath his hands, could almost feel the deep ache in the prince's groin as if it were his own. He swirled his tongue around the head of Kou's cock once more and pressed forward until he had taken the prince down to the root. Kougaiji cried out as he pulsed in Doku's mouth, spurting down his throat, and Doku swallowed again and again, until the prince had nothing left to give. His semen tasted sharp and bitter and metallic: like blood and salt and ashes, all at once. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, Doku decided. He let Kougaiji slip from his mouth and rested his forehead against the prince's stomach, eyes closed as he reveled in Kougaiji's scent and taste, and in the feel of the prince's skin against his own.

And then the prince's hands were in his hair and on his shoulder, tugging at him. Dokugakuji allowed himself to be pulled upward until he and the prince stood pressed together. Another tug and their lips met, Doku opening his mouth to the kiss when Kougaiji's tongue sought entrance. For a moment, Doku felt that he almost couldn't breathe, and then the sharp edge of a tooth caught against his bottom lip. The prince bit down, and Doku grunted as he felt his lip split, the taste of his own blood mixing with the flavor of the prince's come in his mouth. Kougaiji twined his fingers, cool and desperate, into the hair at the nape of Dokugakuji's neck and slid his other hand down Doku's chest and lower, finally pressing against the throbbing heat between Dokugaku's legs. Doku wanted to take his own hands from where they gripped Kougaiji's hips to undo his breeches, but he was helpless to do anything but clutch at the prince as he gently squeezed Doku's near-painful erection through the cloth covering it. He rocked into the prince's touch, panting.

"Dokugaku," the prince sighed against his neck. Doku shivered as the prince murmured against his skin, and his knees went a little weak from desire when the prince tugged his head to the side. Everything seemed to pause, the moment reduced to nothing but sensation: the heat of the prince's mouth at his neck, the friction of his hand at Dokugakuji's groin, the heavy beats of his own heart…and then Doku felt two points of white-hot pain at his throat. Before he could gasp or shout or begin to pull away, the pain was replaced by a rush of pleasure so sharp and pure that it dragged him upward – higher and higher, and even higher still – until he could bear no more and tumbled back down, into empty, welcoming darkness.

_ _ _ _ _

 

Doku opened his eyes slowly, taking in the familiar sight of the ceiling of his small servant's room. He'd had the most amazing dream: sensual, erotic… It would be no surprise to discover that he'd – Doku flushed despite himself – soiled his nightshirt and bed linens while he slept.

"Dokugakuji, are you well?" Yaone's soft voice startled him, and he jerked himself upright. Yaone gasped. "Please, be careful! You've… You've lost some blood…" She watched him closely, her dark eyes troubled.

"Lost …? Have I been ill?" Doku narrowed his eyes and glared at Yaone, suspicious. "Oh. Please tell me that you didn't use leeches." He shuddered, his revulsion only half-feigned, and Yaone smiled a little.

"No, you've not been leeched. Do you mean to say that a great, strapping man like you is afraid of leeches?"

"It's not fear." Doku frowned as Yaone lifted her hand to hide another small smile. She didn't believe him. "Truly! It's more like respect," he explained. "I prefer to view them from respectable distance whenever circumstances make that possible."

Yaone smiled more widely, and Doku gave up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited patiently for Yaone to leave so he could stand up and dress himself, hopefully without her seeing any lingering evidence of his more-than-pleasant dreams.

"You should stay abed. I told you, you've lost some blood." The troubled look was back in Yaone's eyes, and she put a hand on his arm.

"Yaone, I'm perfectly well. How long have I been asleep? Not long, I'd think."

"Since yesterday. It is… It's just after sunset." Yaone looked away, her cheeks stained with color and eyes downcast. Doku ran his fingers through his hair, confused. The motion brought to mind the way Kougaiji had caressed and pulled his hair in his dream, and Doku quickly dropped his hand to his neck, rubbing nervously to cover up his sudden flush. He stopped when his fingertips caught in narrow strips of fabric.

"What's this?" He slid his fingers around his neck until they reached a small knot, and he began to pick at it with his nails. "Yaone, what is this?" Yaone watched him, her expression miserable as he began to unwind the bandage. Doku stared at the bloodstains when the cloth was pooled in his lap. "Yaone?"

"I must go." She tried to stand up to leave, but Doku stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

"Yaone… That wasn't a dream, was it?" Yaone looked away, not wanting to answer.

"Yaone, please. Was it a dream?"

"No, Dokugakuji. It was no dream."

"Then… What happened? What's happened to me?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot stay. I must leave. I only waited to be certain that you were well."

"What? Of course I'm well! And why are you leaving? What's… Kou! Where's the prince?" Yaone gently pulled her wrist from Doku's grasp and stood. He stood with her, no longer caring about propriety.

"Dokugakuji, please! You may be weak or dizzy for a few days. You should rest…" She tried to push him back down to the bed, but Doku was by far the stronger and heavier of the two.

"I've already told you, I'm fine. Where's Kougaiji? Where's the prince?" Doku's hand went back to his neck, and his fingers found the two rough spots where the dream-prince's teeth had pierced his skin. "Yaone, I must speak with him."

"You cannot. The prince is traveling to the city to see his younger sister. He received a message from her school yesterday while you were asleep. It seems that there is some…difficulty…with the princess, and his Highness is the only one she will listen to. He delayed his departure to make certain that you were all right, but now we must go."

"Younger sister? Kougaiji has a… What? Leaving? Yaone…" Yaone reached for the door handle behind her and pushed the door open. She stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, and then she bowed slightly, suddenly formal.

"Dokugakuji. The prince will be gone for perhaps a week. He has asked me to tell you that you are free to leave the castle and seek employment elsewhere, should you so choose. You will, of course, be compensated for your time here and the inconvenience of needing to seek work elsewhere, and you will be provided with…with a suitable reference. The prince apologizes for—" Doku turned away. He neither wanted nor needed to hear anything more.

"If the prince owes me an apology, Yaone, he should deliver it himself. If he could wait to make certain that I was unhurt, surely he could wait to apologize in person." There was nothing left to say after that, and Doku waited until he heard the door close before he slumped back down onto the bed, his head in his hands.

_ _ _ _ _

 

Esme's tavern was precisely as Dokugaku remembered it: close, dark, and smoky. He'd only been here once, but somehow the sights and smells were comforting, like coming to visit a distant but well-liked relative.

"Oh, it's you, young sir! I thought you'd moved on to elsewhere. What brings you back here to Houtou village?" Esme's good-natured shout cut through the hum of conversation in the tavern. The few patrons sitting between her and the door paid her no mind, raising their own voices to better carry on their conversations. Doku grinned broadly and waved to her as he made his way to a vacant spot in the corner, where he could better observe the tavern's occupants. Esme waved back, and a few minutes later, she plunked a mug of dark ale in front of him. "Compliments of the house, my friend. You look like you could use it; you're a mite peaked. Are you well?"

"My thanks, mistress!" Doku saluted Esme with the tankard. "I'm well enough. I'd planned to move on, but I found myself working up at the castle instead. I've been there these past few months." He kept his eyes on her as he lifted his ale and took a deep swallow. "Ah, that hits the spot. I've not had an ale this good since I was here last." Esme cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Up to the castle? I wouldn't have thought of such for you. What sort of work have you found there, then?"

"Valet to Lord Kougaiji." Doku took another hearty swallow, smacking his lips in appreciation.

"Is that so? Hmm." Esme gave him a penetrating glance and then smiled at him. "Now you sound like Old Nob, smacking your lips like that."

"Old Nob? Where is he? I've a few questions..."

"Have you, now? No, he's not come by, though he will. That old goat never misses a night. Gossip, a full pipe, and few pints of ale every evening." Esme leaned forward and lowered her voice. "If you stand him a pint or three yourself, he's likely to answer any question you put to him. Even the ones he might not like."

"I'm grateful for your advice," Doku said. He nodded at her in thanks.

"I only hope you hear the answers you're looking for, my young friend." Esme looked him over once, and then tilted her head so that her chin jutted in the direction of his neck. "But then, perhaps you won't hear the answers you'd want." Doku touched the purplish mark at his throat, not quite hidden by his high collar.

"All I ask for is the truth. The truth as Old Nob knows it is enough for now."

"Even so." Esme shrugged, acknowledging Doku's point. "I'll send him your way with a pint in hand when he comes through the door, hm?"

"I thank you again, mistress." Doku reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. They clinked dully when he dropped them into her hand.

"No thanks necessary. You have the look of an upstanding character about you—" the corner of Doku's mouth twitched wryly "—and your coin's good here. At the very least, you'll keep Old Nob occupied for a goodly while tonight, so he won't be bothering me or stirring up the others with his outlandish tales."

"I'll do my best." Doku attempted another smile, but this one didn't quite reach his eyes. Esme was already looking back towards the bar and failed to notice anything amiss.

"I'm certain you will. Oh, and your name? So Old Nob knows who's owed thanks, as it were."

"I'm called Doku, mistress." He watched as Esme walked back to the bar and sat sipping his ale, brooding quietly in his shadowy corner and keeping half an eye on the tavern's heavy wooden door. Doku had finished his first ale and was contemplating a second when Old Nob finally appeared. The old man made his way to Esme, planting his feet firmly and holding the edge of the bar as he leaned forward to speak with her. Esme answered over her shoulder, briefly distracted by the other patrons. By the set of his own shoulders, Old Nob was feeling disgruntled and ignored, even though Esme had already nodded at him once and given his forearm a friendly squeeze. He raised his voice querulously, and his plaintive whine carried over a lull in the background noise of other people's talk.

"…a poor old man like myself. It isn't too much to be asking, is't?" Nob raised a hand and pointed an arthritic finger at Esme. It shook, from palsy or indignation, and Doku took pity on him. He crossed the short distance to the bar quickly, boots thudding loudly on the wooden planks as they announced his approach.

"Here, mistress, I'll take those pints now and just ask the old grandfather here to join me. Would you, grandfather? Join me at the table back there for a pint and some talk?"

"Eh? What's that?" Old Nob squinted at Doku in confusion. "Join you for a pint? Don't mind if I do!" He followed Doku back to the table in the corner, eyes set on the twin tankards of ale in Doku's hands. He sat quickly, reaching across the smooth, dark wood of the table for his share of the ale and wasting no time as he hoisted it to his mouth. Nob made short work of the first few swallows, sighing happily and smacking his lips in a pleased manner, just as Doku remembered.

"How've you been keeping, grandfather?" asked Doku politely. Old Nob squinted at him and then beamed, his eyes squinching shut with delight.

"It's you! The young man from… from…" Old Nob's face was screwed up in concentration now.

"Three months ago."

"Aye, that's it! You shared your ale when that vile wench Esme stole mine right from under me! You're a good lad, sure enough." Nob nodded, beaming again. "Good lad like you knows how to treat his elders, he does."

"I'm glad you're pleased, grandfather," Doku said mildly, "and I'm pleased that you remember me. I hope you'll stay and drink with me awhile." Old Nob cackled with glee and gulped the rest of his ale, waving his hand above his head to catch Esme's attention for another before he'd taken his last swallow. Doku sipped his second ale slowly, waiting until Old Nob had finished his fourth mug and had started his fifth before he began asking questions.

"When I was here last, you were telling tales of your nephew and the strange goings-on between the village and the castle."

"So I was," Nob nodded blearily. "So I was."

"I had hoped that you might be willing to tell me more."

"Oh? Believe me now, do you? Have you seen the soul-sucking apparitions? Have you heard the hellhound's cry, whippersnapper? Have you—" Old Nob leaned forward, his beery breath wafting across the table "—have you felt the she-devil's kiss?" Doku blinked.

"She-devil, grandfather?"

"Oh, aye. The prince's stepmother, a right she-devil. She's the one what haunted the moors at night and crept into homes before sunlight. She's the one what lured some of the lovely young lads and lasses from the village and from the tinkers' gangs, most never to be heard from again. And She's the one—" Old Nob hiccupped, his hand jolting and his ale wobbling dangerously before Doku caught his wrist and set the tankard flush on the tabletop "—the one what corrupted my poor nephew."

"Corrupted?"

"Hmm." Nob up-ended his ale and swallowed the last of it in a large, noisy mouthful. Doku didn't look away from him as he raised his arm and signaled for another. "Corrupted… Ruined. Ruined!" Old Nob banged his fist on the table for emphasis. Esme slid another full mug of ale in front of the red-faced old man and picked up the empty one. She said nothing, only narrowed her eyes in warning at Doku before she turned and walked away. Doku nodded slightly; he'd do his best to keep the old man calm and his voice confined to their dark corner of the tavern.

"Ruined, grandfather?" Doku continued encouragingly.

"Ruined! He never came home with the sheep that morning, and my brother found him, half-dead and feverish in a hollow, his clothes torn and his neck bleeding and bruised. One of her Ladyship's calves was torn in two, gnawed as if by some ravenous hellbeast! My brother touched it, and the spittle left by the beast burned the very flesh of his hands – it sizzled and spat like grease in a frypan." Nob thumped his fist and tankard on the table at various points during his recitation to show Doku the seriousness of his words. "And when my nephew finally awoke from his fever two days later, he screamed and wept and begged my brother to tie him to the bed that he might not wander back out into the night."

"If he was ill, grandfather, why wouldn't he stay abed? Why would he be afraid he might…?" Old Nob gave Doku a drunken, knowing look.

"He was compelled, y'see. He raved every night in a month about the hellhound that had ripped the calf in two, its eyes burning like fire as it turned into a man who held him down while the she-devil from the castle tore the collar of his shirt and _drank his blood_." Nob smacked his lips with relish and took a long drink of ale. "And he said that though he pissed himself from the fear of it, the touch of Her cold, cold hands on his throat were a pleasure like to nothing he'd felt afore. He was stricken with terror that he would leave his bed every night and walk the moor road to meet Her and let Her drink his blood until he died of it. Because—" Old Nob's voice got softer, and the words a little more precise as he made a visible effort to impress Dokugaku with their significance "—She – he said it with longing and dread in his eyes, he did, weeping like a wee babe and not the man he was – _She_ told him that he belonged to Her now, and that his life was Hers. Her will was his to obey without question, and when She called, he would come to Her and let Her suck him dry, if it pleased Her to do so. He," Old Nob paused to take another deep draught of his ale before continuing "said that he could hear Her calling him at night, calling him to come to Her and slake Her thirst. Come morning, he'd be so weak he was unfit to be in the fields, and he'd be swooning and raving again by noontime.

"The prince—" here Old Nob wrinkled his nose "—came here near a month after that, and her Ladyship and that strange man of hers were gone a fortnight later. My nephew sleeps a little easier now, but he still weeps in the night and begs my brother to bar his door when the fog is thick on the moor and the moon is bright. He'll still not venture out once the sun goes down. He says… He says he hears Her calling to him even now, and he fears that he will go to Her. That poor boy says that since he felt Her touch, since She drank of his blood, he feels that She stole a sliver of his soul and he can deny Her nothing because of it. Not even his own life. 'Old Uncle,' he says to me, 'Old Uncle, if Lady Gyokumen were to return to the castle and ask me to lie at Her feet to keep them from the cold stone floor, I would do it. If She told me to wear a collar and walk behind Her like a hound, I would do it. And if She bade me slit my own throat that She might bathe in my blood and drink it all, I would do it though the very thought of Her makes me weak from fear.' And then he weeps and moans in terror and will not stir from his bed or suffer himself to be comforted until days pass and his body is too weak for him to feel the fear any longer." Old Nob slapped his open hand on the table to signify the end of his tale. He watched Doku carefully over the rim of his mug, eyes bright with alcohol and anticipation.

"That, grandfather, is a fantastic tale," Doku said finally. He wasn't sure how much was truth and how much was dressed up by the old man's penchant for tale-telling.

"A true one, young friend. A true one. Nobody believes my nephew; he's always been a bit fragile, even before her Ladyship got to him. And nobody believes him as the rest who turned up after a night out on the moor left on their own for work in the city or to wander the world with nary a word to their loved ones."

"There were others who were… attacked? And who said nothing of Lady Gyokumen nor anyone else?" Doku tried not to let his skepticism show in his voice. He was certain that Old Nob was too tipsy to notice, but it was a chance he'd rather not take.

"If'n you ask me, as I know you will," Old Nob smirked, "it's only because that boy is a coward. He was afraid of the love he had for his sweetheart and lost her to another man, afraid of the horse his father tried to teach him to ride when he was a boy, afraid of leaving my brother's house even before that night on the moor, and even afraid of _living_. It's only he's _more_ afraid of dying and things what he doesn't know. That's what gave him the strength to resist Her." Dokugakuji stared.

"Grandfather," he said admiringly, "you've far more wisdom than you let on." Old Nob snorted.

"I have. I've also," he looked pointedly at his empty tankard, "a powerful thirst from so much talkin' and bestowin' of wisdom." Doku pushed his ale across the table and into Old Nob's hand.

"I'll have Esme send you another on my way out. My thanks, grandfather. I'll stand you a few more pints when I'm here next."

"Oh? Leavin' already?" Old Nob raised the ale and drank. Doku stood, smiling gently.

"The night's more than half gone, and I'll be needed back at the castle. The prince ought to be returning tomorrow, and I have to set things to rights before he rides in."

Old Nob dropped his tankard, spilling the last of the ale. And as Doku walked out the door, he found himself followed by a forlorn wail that would have done a hellhound proud.

_ _ _ _ _

 

The prince, Dokugakuji knew, expected him to be gone. He expected his valet to have left – perhaps in humiliation, perhaps in fear – not to walk into his rooms smelling faintly of ale and the night mist. Likewise, Doku hadn't expected the prince to come back to the castle tonight. He'd meant to be waiting when Kougaiji returned, not to wander in like an afterthought when the prince had already done away with most of the evidence of his travel.

Kougaiji was facing away from the door, standing in front of a shadowed mirror and doing up the front of a freshly pressed waistcoat when Doku walked in. The prince's hair was damp, and the room smelled faintly of steam and soap. "Kougaiji, sir. Welcome back. I see you've already bathed; please allow me to bring your tea once you've settled in. I can finish putting away the rest of your things while you eat." The prince started in surprise and then turned to face Doku, displeasure evident in every line of his body.

"Dokugakuji. Why are you here? Why haven't you left?" His tone was sharp, cutting. Doku schooled his features and let nothing of his feelings show. It seemed that despite Yaone's message from a week ago that Doku was free to stay or go as he liked, the prince had truly expected him to leave without so much as a parting word between them. He'd not left then, and he was of no mind to do so now.

"I've finally found a place where I belong. I hadn't expected to find that I'd belong anywhere, particularly not here. But I have, sir. And so I find I cannot leave."

"Belong? You, belong at Houtou castle, Dokugakuji? You cannot belong here. Not now."

"'Not now'? Do you say that because of what we… what you..." Doku watched the prince carefully and saw the look in Kougaiji's eyes change. "Kou. Do you mean to say that you'd use me the way Lady Gyokumen used the tinkers' lads and lasses?" Now Kougaiji looked stricken, his eyes widening a little though the rest of his expression projected a calculated indifference. "I don't know much, but I do know what sort of cruel and unnatural creature the Lady Gyokumen was rumored to be. Is that what you are?" Doku kept his voice calm, unaccusatory. He didn't believe that the prince would ever – could ever – stoop to such pitiless behavior, even inadvertently.

"_No._ I—" Doku moved forward, but the prince held his ground, the stricken expression in his eyes giving way to something else the closer Doku got. Doku stopped after two short steps, wary of pressing his luck.

"Then I stay."

"No. _No._ You will leave." Kougaiji clenched his hands into fists, and he drew in a deep breath. The shadows at his feet seemed to darken, mirroring the storm gathering in his eyes. "You must not stay. You _will not_ stay; it is far too dangerous—"

"Dangerous? Why, because you'll drink my blood? Because you're some sort of hell-fiend who'll subjugate me and steal my will?"

"_Leave!_" The prince's voice grew louder, and the shadows beneath him began to swirl and rise up from the ground, lifting to coil around him like a black fog. "Go now. Turn and walk from this place, Dokugakuji. Do not look back." Kougaiji's eyes had begun to glow with an eerie light, violet-blue irises turning the deep red of fresh-spilled blood, and his words rumbled like distant thunder. Doku could feel their vibrations deep in his bones. "Dokugakuji. You will leave."

"I will not." Doku had broken out into a cold sweat, the urge to turn and fly from the room almost more than he could withstand. But he would not run. He would not be moved – not by circumstance, not by the will of another, and not by anyone's fear or guilt or self-loathing. He could not leave when believed he finally might have found something worth keeping.

"_Dokugakuji._" Kougaiji's voice cracked like a whip, and Doku found himself flinching in something like pain as the prince's words tore through him, their impact almost a physical thing. "I order you to leave. **Now.**"

"…N-no." The urge to run was stronger now, crawling over Doku's skin like a thousand angry bees. But he remained where he was. His only concession to his growing need to flee from the room was to stumble back a few steps and set his back against the wall for support.

"**LEAVE!**" Kougaiji roared, raising his fists in fury. The shadow-mist around him snapped and crackled with sparks of black energy, and he leapt forward, fist striking the stone wall next to Doku's head with shocking force. Tiny chips of stone clattered to the floor and landed on Doku's shoulder. One grazed his cheek, leaving a thin line of _sharpness_ behind.

"Kougaiji. I will not." Dokugaku lifted his shaking hand, reaching for the prince's wrist. It was so very near to his cheek; there was only a small distance between them... But the prince jerked himself away the moment he felt Doku's touch.

"_Leave_," he hissed. The crackling mist had subsided as suddenly as it had appeared, but the crimson light in the prince's eyes and his fury had not. He glared at Doku, the weight of his displeasure oppressive and his command to leave the castle lodged like a large stone in Doku's chest. They continued to stare at one another like that for several tense moments, neither one prepared to give ground.

Kougaiji broke first. His glare sharpened before he made a noise of disgust and frustration deep in his throat, and then he was pushing away from Doku to stalk through the doorway and into the shadowed corridor beyond. Doku's knees buckled, and he collapsed gracelessly to the floor.

_Well_, he thought, palms pressed flat against the bright pattern of the Persian rug beneath him. _If that's our prince at his worst, I can weather any storm he chooses to bring._ Dokugaku lifted his fingertips to his cheek and felt for blood, but his fingers came away with nothing but a fine coating of stone dust. No more than a scrape, then. He carefully pulled himself to his feet and surveyed the damage to the wall. _I don't know how the walls will fare if I should make him angry again, though…_ Doku smiled wryly at the cracks in the masonry.

When he felt steady and no longer in danger of giving in to the driving need to _get away_, Doku occupied himself with putting away the remainder of the prince's travel clothes and clearing away the evidence of his bath – teatime would obviously have to wait. He wanted to go after Kougaiji, but he didn't think his presence would be welcome for a long while yet. It was probably best to let the prince's temper cool on its own, much as it had been best to wait until his mother had let go the sharper edges of her anger after she'd lashed out at Gojyo. But unlike his mother, Kougaiji didn't appear to be the sort who would actually harm anyone while he was in a temper. Doku had never been afraid that his mother would strike him, but he had always been afraid for his little brother. With Kou, he supposed he only need fear for the stonework. Doku smiled a bittersweet little smile at that as he sat down in the prince's rooms to wait for his return.

As it turned out, he had a long while to wait. He eventually fell asleep in one of the prince's comfortable chairs, lulled into drowsiness by the heat of the dying fire that had been lit for Kougaiji's bath. He was awakened sometime later by the startled exclamation of his name.

"Dokugakuji!" Yaone stood outside the open door, a large goblet in her hand.

"Kougaiji?" Doku twitched into immediate wakefulness, the prince's name on his lips.

"Dokugakuji, you… you've not gone?" Yaone took a few tentative steps into the room and set the goblet on a small table nearby.

"Y-Yaone? No, of course I haven't. Where would I go?" Doku sat up straight, rubbing sleep-sand from his eyes.

"It would be safer for you if you were to leave now." Yaone's dark eyes were sad when she looked at him.

"Safer?" Doku yawned unconcernedly. "Will Kougaiji attack me in my sleep?"

"No!" Now Yaone looked shocked, perhaps even a bit horrified.

"Then I have no reason to go. I've been here for no more than a few months, but I've been welcomed and made to feel as though I belong, despite no one knowing me or knowing whether I could be trusted. I've not had an experience like that in a long time, Yaone, and it's not something I'm willing to abandon."

"No?" The shock was gone from Yaone's expression, replaced by kind understanding. "I suppose not. I felt much the same when I first met Lord Kougaiji. He rescued me during his travels back to his realm, a short while before he became king. My uncle meant to sell me to pay off his debts, but Lord Kougaiji wouldn't hear of it. He bought me, and after I'd repaid the debt by serving in his household for a year, he told me I was free to choose where I would go and what I would do. So I chose to stay on and continue serving him. And when I learned… learned what he was…" Yaone twisted her hands in the hem of her apron nervously.

"I have some idea what the prince is, Yaone," Doku said. He hooked his thumb in his collar and tugged, briefly revealing the fading mark on his neck, and Yaone's head bobbed once in understanding.

"When I learned what he was, it changed nothing. I still wished to serve him. Perhaps I wished to serve him even more once I learned the truth. He is as kind a master as one could want, and I've never had cause to regret following him."

"Never? No, I'd expect not." Doku frowned, looking toward the windows and trying to discern how high the sun had risen in the sky. He could see nothing but a ghostly gray that erased the outbuildings to nothing more than faint, blurred outlines. "Have you brought his medicinal draught? I don't believe he's returned; will he be all right without it?"

"Dokugakuji?" Yaone was puzzled.

"Kou wasn't expecting me to want to stay on, and we had words. He was rather, er, put out with me, as you might expect." Doku chuckled humorlessly and pointed at the chipped and scarred wall next to the door. Yaone's large, lovely eyes went larger at the sight of the damage.

"Oh! Is he—" she began, worried. Doku rubbed his hand over his face, thinking.

"He seemed unhurt, but he was in a hurry to get away from me. Yaone, the prince – where would he go, if he were in a mood? I must speak with him; I must make him listen to me. He _will_ hear me."

"Lord Kougaiji… He may have gone to the crypt."

"Crypt?" Dokugakuji was beginning to believe that in having come to work at Houtou castle, he really was living out the plot of one of his mother's beloved sensation novels. It was only a matter of time before he stumbled upon a secret passageway that led to a tragic beauty (other than the prince, of course) locked in some dark tower or underground dungeon. "Is this castle filled with nothing but secrets? The prince suffers from an unusual disease of the blood but drinks it from others, his stepmother had perhaps the same affliction but used it to exercise depravity against innocent villagers, he has a sister I've not heard any mention of until lately, and now there's a crypt where Kougaiji spends his time?" Doku tugged at his earlobe in frustration. He supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised. "What fantastic secret will be revealed next? Bah!"

Yaone stared at him. Doku simply waited, affecting a patience he didn't feel. He didn't want to ask why Kougaiji felt it necessary to retreat to a crypt, of all places, when the mood struck him. He didn't want to ask anything else at all; he only wanted to know where he might find the prince.

"Th-there's a small church, out near the cliffs. You might find him there; he goes there sometimes when he cannot stand being in the castle." Yaone twisted the hem of her apron in her hands again, her nervous fidgeting reflecting the anxiety in her face.

"Yaone, thank you." Doku took her hands in his own and squeezed them briefly in thanks, then took off down the hall running.

_ _ _ _ _

 

Kougaiji's holdings were vast – far larger than Doku had originally thought. While being the prince's body-servant had meant that he'd gotten to know Kougaiji in both body and character far better than the prince might have liked, it also meant that Doku hadn't ventured out beyond the castle very often. Doku snorted in annoyance. There was little need for a lord's valet to lurk anywhere but in his lordship's chambers and halls, particularly when the lord in question didn't want his valet's company on any of his lordship's excursions. As a result, it took Doku the better part of an hour on horseback to find the small cliffside church, his efforts hindered by a cold, clinging mist that left his greatcoat and breeches heavy with the damp by the time he found the weathered stone building. The church's modest spire poked unconcernedly into the fog, its point occasionally revealed when the mist swirled and thinned from a puff of wind high off the ground.

The door was slightly ajar, and several candles and a few lamps within were lit. Their warm golden light flickered, the deep shadows in the corners and between the age-worn pews flickering with them. Doku was fleetingly reminded of the way that Kougaiji had been wreathed by other, more animated shadows, but these at least appeared to be ordinary. Friendly, even, Doku might go so far as to say. He nosed about the church, looking for a way into the crypt he was certain lay beneath the floors until he finally found a narrow door that led to a flight of steep stairs. More flickering light awaited him at the bottom, and beyond that, another narrow door. It felt rather like he was in a maze. Doku squeezed his large frame through the arched stone doorway, ignoring the way the curved walls seemed to press in on him. The sound of his boots was subdued down here, the impact of his heels muted and uncertain.

"Kougaiji? Sir?" Doku walked carefully down the cramped stone corridor, following the light that spilled out onto the dark old stones at the other end of the passageway. "Kougaiji?" The passageway opened into a large room filled with hundreds of bright, clear-burning candles. A pale figure clothed in paler silk and dark velvet lay on a raised stone slab. Shimmering curtains hung from the ceiling and, had they not been tied back with knotted cords, would have hidden the form from sight. Doku approached cautiously, his errand momentarily forgotten.

She was beautiful: her skin was like porcelain, her hair a rich mahogany; her face was delicate and finely sculpted; her lips full and generous. She looked, Dokugaku thought, like the prince, and she looked like she might be sleeping. He reached out tentatively and touched her impossibly white wrist. It was as cold as marble and as unyielding. He drew his hand back quickly and blew on his fingers to chase away the chill that had seeped into his skin from even that small touch.

"Dokugakuji. Why have you come here, to my mother's resting place?" Doku whirled around, almost stumbling. The prince stood just out of the circle of candlelight, his arms crossed and his face impassive.

"Kou. She looks… She looks almost—"

"She is. She's trapped in an endless slumber, poisoned when I was a boy by her cousin, who was my father's mistress and the mother of my sister."

"How can that…"

"Have you," said the prince, pushing away from the wall and coming to stand directly in front of Doku, "heard of the _upiri_?" He cocked his head to the side and smiled mockingly when Doku shook his head in confusion. "We've also been called _strega_ or, in your language, _vampyr_ or vampires. We're a demonic, unnatural breed who shun God's light and are undone by holy relics. We feed on innocents and force our depraved will on them; we drive men and women mad, and their children are our cattle." He took another step closer to Doku and reached out, gathering a fistful of Doku's greatcoat and pulling him down to whisper in Doku's ear. "We kill because we can, and we drink human blood because it satisfies the unholy compact we've made with the devil. And the devil," Kougaiji hissed, "is all the more pleased when we kill in his name or force an innocent to drink of our blood and make him one of us." The prince released him and gave him a gentle shove. Doku took a half step backward to regain his balance, but he said nothing. He simply stood there, watching the prince. Listening. Waiting.

"Those are the stories they tell in the mountains surrounding my country and in the rest of the civilized world. My people knew better; my mother and I were born this way, as were her cousin and my great-grandmother before me. My granduncle as well. We do not live on blood alone, though we need it to survive and can live on nothing but a few mouthfuls a day for years at a time, should such be necessary. And we cannot stay long in the sun, or it poisons us the way my mother has been poisoned." The prince gestured at the woman in the pool of candlelight. "That much of the stories is true. Somehow, my stepmother and her eccentric lover distilled the essence of sunlight and forced her to drink it. She fell into this deathlike sleep, neither living nor dying, and once I came of age, I left the kingdom to search the world for a cure. My father had remarried, taking his mistress for his wife and dismissing my accusations as the jealous anger of a spoiled child. But by then my stepmother was drinking deeply from my father every night, rendering him weak and making him susceptible to her influence." Kougaiji's eyes were dark and unreadable in the hazy periphery where light and shadow bled into each other.

"'Influence.'" Dokugakuji shifted uncomfortably. "When your stepmother – when Lady Gyokumen drank the blood of the tinkers' young men and women and told them to return to her in the following nights, that was 'influence?'"

"It was."

"And when you told me to leave, when you called up shadows and tried to push me out the door with naught but your words and the terrible look in your eyes, that was 'influence,' too?"

"Yes."

"It seems that your lady stepmother was better accomplished at it than you are, Kou." Doku saw the prince's face tighten in real anger at that and decided that holding his tongue was the wiser course of action.

"So she is." The prince's mouth twisted bitterly. "With the help of her lover – damnable man with his diabolical science and mysticism! – she somehow extended her influence to everyone in my father's realm, even those whose blood she'd never tasted. Once she'd killed my father the king and I'd returned from my fruitless search abroad, it took her no time to convince nobles from the mountain countries to carry on the campaign to turn my people against me. Not that I would have done anything to stop them had I known." The prince's anger grew sharper, his tone more bitter. "I cared for nothing but seeking a cure for my mother. I gave up my kingdom for her unknowingly, but I would have given it freely if I'd known that was the price. So I have tried to be a good leader to the rest of my people, to give them a life worth living here, so far from our home. But it feels as though it means nothing with my mother this way." The prince's voice was savage, and his fists were clenched. "I should have protected her; I knew what a vicious harpy my father's mistress could be. I knew how twisted and unnatural her lover was, but I failed her. I failed my mother, but I would still give anything to release her from this curse. I would give everything." Doku watched the shadows around the prince warily, but he saw nothing untoward – the darkness around the prince stayed mere shadows.

"Would you?"

"_Yes_. I would use anyone, do anything. The price to save my mother could be to spill your blood, and I would pay it. And yet still you claim you will stay?"

"I wonder if you truly would give anything and everything." Kougaiji flushed, the color creeping up from his neck until the whole of his face was suffused with the evidence of his displeasure. Doku ignored him.

"What would you know of it?" the prince fairly spat.

"I know enough, Kou. I know enough. Thirteen years ago, I killed my mother. She had always been fragile and fanciful, given to strange moods and quick to anger, but she was beautiful and she doted on my father and on me. Until the year my father brought home a baby. His mistress had had his child, but she was weak and ill and could not care for Gojyo, so he brought the boy home to us. My mother was never the same after that. When my father left our house some nights, she would creep out after him and return home before he did, raving and weeping. And then one night she came home laughing through her tears, her hands and the front of her dress stained with blood. My father never returned after that. She told me that he'd left with his whore, leaving the burden of raising my little brother to her.

"She hated Gojyo. She hated the dark red of his hair that reminded him of my father's mistress; she hated his smile, so much like my father's. And he wanted nothing more than to please her. He would have given anything to see her smile at him, but she only hated him all the more for it. I tried to protect him, but my mother was often ill, so I found work in a factory to earn us all a living. I would often come home to find Gojyo hiding in some corner or lurking in some alleyway on my way home, covered in bruises and scratches. Once he even met me with his arm swollen and broken, the marks of my mother's nails deep on his wrist. But what was I to do? I loved my mother, and I loved my brother. I had no choice but to protect them both.

"The winter my brother was seven, I took sick with a fever. I think I must have slept for a long time, and when I woke, the rooms were quiet, dark. Neither my mother nor Gojyo were anywhere to be found. I wanted nothing more than to stay in my bed, but I was afraid for my brother, and for my mother, too. So I sought them out, following footprints that I hoped belonged to them until I came to a bridge spanning a half-frozen river. My mother was standing over Gojyo, her hands at his neck, strangling him. He'd gone limp, and she began to drag him over so that she could dangle him above the water. In that moment, I understood that I had to choose. I could never save my mother, but I could save my brother. So I took Gojyo from her and pushed her. She made no sound as she fell, not even when the river current carried her off and dashed her against the rocks and ice jutting out from the riverbanks." Doku paused, but the prince did not speak. He only watched Doku, his expression revealing nothing.

"Gojyo wouldn't wake. I carried him to a hospital run by a small church near our home, and I… I left him there. I left him there before he could awaken and ask me where our mother was and why I was crying." Doku carefully closed his hands into loose fists and put them in his pockets to stop their shaking.

"I haven't seen him since, and though I am ashamed that I abandoned him out of cowardice, I no longer regret the choice I made. I wanted more than anything to save my mother, but I wanted my brother to have a chance to live. And since I could not save my mother, I saved Gojyo. I don't know why Gojyo left the house with her that day; he knew better than to get in Mother's way if I wasn't home. I don't know if he still hoped that she might learn to love him if he demonstrated the obedience of an angel. I don't know if he understood that she would kill him one day and was willing to let it happen there, on that bridge in the snow. I don't even know if he hates me for saving him and killing her.

"But what he wanted doesn't matter. _I_ wanted Gojyo to live. And I've discovered that I can live in a world where I killed my mother, but I could never have lived in a world where I let my brother die. It doesn't matter how selfish my choice was. It was mine, and I made it for myself. I chose what _I_ wanted." Dokugakuji looked Kougaiji in the eye. "And now I choose to stay here. You gave me a place to belong, not knowing who I was or what I'd done. You never asked. Even now, I cannot think you care."

"I do not."

"Nor do I. So tell me to leave. Use your 'influence' or any other tricks you have hidden away; you may do whatever you like for whatever reasons you choose. But I will not go. I stay not for you nor because you're the lord here. I stay because it is what I want for myself."

"Dokugakuji—" began the prince. Doku ignored him and stepped closer, until no more than a few inches remained between them.

"Kougaiji. You are a good man; I've seen it. Your people see it; it's why they follow you. They love and respect you, Kou."

"'A good man?'" The prince's bitterness had returned.

"Yes. You may be a prince, a deposed king, or a lord. You may even be… whatever it is that you are. But you are still just a _man_, Kougaiji. Underneath it all, you are a man like me. Like Swordmaster Zakuro; like Old Nob in the village tavern. Just a man like any other."

"I am _not_ 'just a man like any other.' I could have lost myself in the pleasure of your taste—" something dark flashed in the prince's eyes "—and sucked you dry; I can still bend your will to mine. I could do this to anyone, to everyone in the village." Doku shook his head once, unimpressed.

"And I could set fire to the castle. I could steal cattle and raze barns; I could turn highwayman or beat men to death with my bare hands in tavern brawls. But I will not. I choose not to, Kou. And you cannot make me leave. You've tried, and I told you: I'll stay here for myself. Nothing you say will change that." Doku bent down as he brought his arms up to wrap around the prince. "And nothing you say will change this, either," he murmured as he covered the prince's mouth with his own.

The sensation was electric, like the tiny, sharp bubbles in the champagne Dokugaku had drunk once. The feel and taste of Kougaiji on his tongue was just as sweet and biting, just as intoxicating. He felt the prince stiffen against him, neither fighting him nor pushing him away, but not welcoming him, either. He wound his fingers through the long, soft strands of hair falling down the prince's back and tugged gently. The prince parted his lips, perhaps to speak, and Doku plunged his tongue between them to meet Kougaiji's, drawing Kougaiji's tongue back into his own mouth to suck at it greedily, until the tension drained from the prince's body. Kougaiji pressed his tongue against the roof of Doku's mouth and stroked, and Doku let out a low moan. He moved his hands downward until they reached the prince's waist and pulled him closer so that they fitted together, melting against each other as they continued to explore each other's mouths. Dokugaku didn't want to let go, but he wanted to feel the prince's skin under his fingertips, so he moved back slightly to push Kougaiji's coat from his shoulders and begin unbuttoning his waistcoat.

"You're taking too long," said the prince roughly. He yanked his waistcoat open himself, and the buttons not yet undone flew off to skitter across the stone floor. "Now you." He made short work of Doku's greatcoat and had him down to nothing but his shirt in less time than Doku would have believed possible.

"You'd have made an excellent valet, Kou," Doku remarked admiringly. He tugged at the prince's shirt until it came free of his breeches and he could get his hands under it to the smooth, warm skin beneath. He wanted to take his time, to map every inch of the prince's body with his mouth and fingertips… But he also wanted to touch the prince, to make him shudder and gasp and groan right _now_. Like the prince was doing to him at this very moment. Doku could feel the prince's cool hand slipping down into his breeches to cup his stiffening cock, so he saw no reason to wait any longer. He skimmed his own hands up Kougaiji's chest and felt the prince squeeze him as his palms skated over hardening nipples.

"I want to feel more of you," Doku whispered. He rubbed the stiff peaks beneath his fingertips and then pinched gently, rolling the little nubs of flesh between his thumbs and forefingers. The prince's breath caught as he leaned into Doku's touch. The movement pulled him a little off-balance, and Doku wrapped one of his arms around the prince's waist. He continued to tease Kou with his other hand until the prince rubbed his thumb over a particularly sensitive spot just under the head of his cock. Now it was Doku's turn to be pulled off-balance, and they stumbled the short distance across the floor until Kougaiji's back was against the wall. Doku smiled and moved in for another kiss. The way the prince was using his tongue left Doku breathless; it made him want to leave Kou breathless, too. He pulled away and began kissing along the prince's jaw – small, soft nibbles that traveled to his ear. He took Kou's earlobe between his teeth and nipped. Kougaiji groaned and wrenched at the front of Dokugaku's breeches until he had Doku fully exposed, fondling him with clever fingers that stroked and caressed and pulled. Doku closed his eyes and moaned, pressing himself into Kougaiji's touch.

"Dokugakuji," said the prince. His voice was low and rough, and the sound of it made Doku break out into gooseflesh.

"Please," Doku gasped. He moved his mouth to the prince's neck and sucked while his fingers scrabbled to draw Kougaiji's erection from the confines of his clothes. He finally touched smooth, hot skin and slid his fingertips through the fluid at the tip of the prince's penis before spreading it down the shaft. The prince fit so well in his hand, felt so good against his palm. Doku moved slowly, pressing his thumb against the slit at the head of the prince's cock and rubbing in little circles. The prince's hips jerked forward, and he let out a deep groan that echoed throughout the crypt, bouncing from the ceiling and reverberating up the corridor to the stairway.

The next several minutes were a frenzy of touch and sound: lips and tongues meeting; sharp nips eliciting gasps of surprise and moans of arousal; hot, wet mouths sucking at smooth, pale flesh and leaving purpling marks; hips thrusting; cocks sliding together to create a delicious friction; fabric tearing as the prince pulled Doku's shirt open and splayed his hands against the larger man's shoulders. Doku slowed the movements of his hips, his thrusts more languid now. He loosened his grip where his hand pressed his erection against the prince's and met the prince's gaze. Kougaiji's eyes were glazed with lust, his lips parted to show the tips of his teeth. They seemed longer, Dokugaku thought. It didn't matter. He looked directly into the prince's eyes as he rocked his hips in a lazy rhythm, and then he tilted his head to the side in invitation. Kougaiji groaned, and his cock twitched where it was trapped against Doku's.

"Doku," the prince panted. He licked his lips and stared at the expanse of skin offered to him, at the fine line of Doku's strong collarbone and the curve where neck met shoulder.

"You won't hurt me. You didn't before," Doku assured him, stroking their cocks a little faster. He twisted his wrist at the top of his upstroke and gasped at the sensation it caused. Kou's eyes darkened at the sound and he leaned forward, lips pulled apart. He pressed his mouth to Doku's collarbone, the sharp points of his teeth just resting against the skin there, the tip of his tongue tracing tiny circles in a rhythm that matched the motion of Dokugakuji's hand. "You won't hurt me, Kou," Doku said. "I – ahh…! – trust you..."

Kougaiji bit down, just hard enough to break the skin.

The taste of Doku's blood was like an aphrodisiac. Even these few small drops were enough to make Kougaiji feel that it would be a small thing – such a simple thing, really – to go mad from desire. He swiped his tongue across Doku's salty skin, collecting the two bright beads of blood that welled up from the small punctures he'd made. Doku made a small, frantic noise and shivered. Kougaiji licked again and sucked gently as Doku began to thrust against him in earnest, his grip almost painful where he held their cocks together. Kougaiji tore at Doku's shirt, the fabric giving further and exposing his chest, to run his hands over the too-warm, sweat-slicked skin there. His nails bit into the flesh over Dokugakuji's heart, and Doku cried out in pleasure at the sharpness of it. Kougaiji closed his eyes and pressed the tip of his tongue to one of the lines of blood that appeared there.

Dokugakuji threw his head back and let out a long, hoarse groan as his orgasm washed over him, racking him with shudders. He braced himself with one hand against the wall over the prince's shoulder, nails almost breaking as his fingers curled against the rough stone. The prince flicked his tongue over the break in Doku's skin again, and Doku gasped at the feel of it: hot and wet and stinging. His cock twitched in his hand, slick now with semen and still pressed against the prince's, which lay thick and hard against his palm. Doku drew a long, ragged breath and turned to Kougaiji. The prince was studying him, his eyes hooded and face flushed. Doku watched him in return as he began to move his hand, gliding up and down in a gradually increasing rhythm that soon had the prince closing his eyes and breathing hard, hips moving faster. Doku was about to bend forward to kiss the prince once more when he felt a small trickle of blood begin to run down his chest. He wiped it away carefully with the thumb of his free hand and looked at Kougaiji, whose eyes were closed tightly, his mouth open wide as he began thrust more urgently into Doku's fist.

"Kou," Dokugaku said softly. The prince's eyes snapped open to find Doku's bloodied thumb pressing against his lip, and the instant Doku slid his thumb into the prince's mouth, Kougaiji came apart. He arched against Dokugakuji and cried out, his voice muffled as he spilled over Doku's hand in hot, wet pulses that seemed to go on forever until he slumped bonelessly back against the wall. Doku leaned into him, holding him up. They stood there for a moment, just leaning against each other, until Doku broke the stillness by brushing his hand against the prince's hip. He pushed away from the wall and turned slightly, quickly rearranging himself and putting both his clothes and thoughts in some semblance of order. When he turned back to assist Kougaiji, he found that there was nothing left for him to do, except perhaps crawl along the floor and search out the four buttons missing from the bottom of the prince's waistcoat. But then, he wasn't certain that the prince even required the restoration of his buttons. He frowned, considering, and then looked up, opening his mouth to ask.

The look on Kougaiji's face stopped him.

"Doku," began the prince carefully, "I—"

"No," said Doku quickly, reaching for him. "Put me to work in the stables. Send me to the kitchens or set me to polishing silver, if you will no longer have me as your valet. But… Kou, I will not leave. I cannot." His fingers curled, making him clutch at Kougaiji despite himself.

"Dokugakuji," said the prince. He curved his lips in a faint smile and gripped Doku's arm. "No, Dokugakuji." There was something that looked almost like hope in his eyes. "I'm asking you to stay."

-end-

**Epilogue:**

_Two Years Later…_

"Excuse me, but may I ask how far it is to Baskerville Manor from here?" The polite young man in spectacles and a green waistcoat was smiling at Esme.

"Baskerville Manor…? Oh, 'bout a day's ride if you take the main road west through the village and across the moor."

"Ah, thank you. Might I take these? I'm going to sit with my companions, so there's no need for you to put yourself out on our account." He wrapped his long fingers around the handles of the four mugs of ale and lifted them easily. Negotiating a clear path was a bit more difficult, however, as half of the tavern's clientele were sprawling in their seats, their limbs as loosened as their tongues by the free-flowing ale.

"Here, allow me." The lanky redhead in the well-cut brown coat stood and took two of the tankards from him. "There you are, Sanzo." He plunked one of the ales in front of the sour-looking blond sitting next to him.

"Humph." The blonde sneered around the stem of his pipe and folded his newspaper. "Goku!" he snapped. "Exercise more decorum when you're eating!" He rapped the wide-eyed youth sitting to his other side smartly with the newspaper.

"Aw, Sanzo! If I don't eat it fast, Gojyo's just gonna steal it off my plate, an' this is the best shepherd's pie I've had in months!" Nevertheless, he shoved in a slightly smaller mouthful, his golden eyes sparkling with youthful innocence.

"Humph." Sanzo sucked on his pipe and turned away. Goku grinned, the innocent gleam gone, and reached across the table to steal a sausage roll from Gojyo's plate. Gojyo paid him no notice; he was too busy talking to Hakkai.

"…really think it's a legitimate case? That is to say, who ever heard of a hellhound?" Hakkai was asking.

"We're getting paid to investigate, and they're a fine old family. It's legitimate enough; that's what Sanzo would say," Gojyo replied. He fidgeted with the black silk ribbon holding his hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

"Too right I would," Sanzo grunted.

"Hellhound?" came a blurred, boozy voice from behind Sanzo. "We had a hellhound 'round here, near about five year'n ago, it was."

"Oh?" Hakkai turned, all polite curiosity. Sanzo ignored the eavesdropper and tapped his fingernails against the bowl of his pipe in irritation.

"Oh, aye. A right vicious hound it were, too. Could rip a calf in half with one bite! Its spittle," the old man continued gleefully, "burned the skin to the touch. 'S gone now, though." He held out a gnarled, trembling hand. "They call me Old Nob."

"Ah, Dr. Cho Hakkai." Hakkai held out his own hand to clasp Nob's. "I work with the eminent detective Genjyo Sanzo here, and with Police Inspector Sha Gojyo." Hakkai indicated the blond and redhead, respectively. "And this is Goku, Sanzo's—"

"Stupid ape!" Gojyo suddenly lunged across the table and reclaimed his sausage roll from Goku's plate. He fended the young man off by poking him in the forehead with his spoon and crammed the whole sausage roll into his mouth at once. "HAH! Tfghake thafgth!" Gojyo crowed, damp crumbs spraying from his mouth.

"_Be still, damn your eyes!_" shouted Sanzo, leaping to his feet. He brandished the folded newspaper and whacked both Gojyo and Goku sharply. They subsided at once, Goku looking hurt and sulky while Gojyo merely glared and rubbed at the knot rising at his temple.

Old Nob blinked as Sanzo sat back down, whipping his newspaper open and glaring over the top of it. His violet eyes were fierce, and neither Goku nor Gojyo would look directly at him.

"Aha ha ha!" laughed Hakkai. "Please forgive my companions. We spend much of our time on the road and with each other. We're not used to company."

"Hmm," Old Nob said. "Fair 'nough. What was it you were saying?"

"We're investigating the claim that a hellhound has appeared on the grounds of Baskerville Manor and is terrorizing the family. It's a large hound with glowing green eyes ringed with an eerie, otherworldly flame. Terribly fascinating, don't you think?"

"Does its spittle burn to the touch? Might be our hellhound what's gone on elsewhere if it does."

"You really had a hellhound?" Sanzo was still glaring, but the intensity of his displeasure seemed to have dropped a few degrees. Not that it mattered to Old Nob, who was as pleasantly oblivious as a man six pints into a cask of ale can be.

"That we did! And soul-sucking apparitions, too – one a real she-devil in particular. But they moved on when Lord Kougaiji came to the castle." Nob jerked his thumb in the general direction of the tavern's door. "Come to think of it, he's the one what ran 'em off, if my friend is right. Now we've other troubles, though."

"Oh?" Hakkai leaned forward again, all courteous interest. Sanzo twitched his paper and affected indifference while Gojyo and Goku continued to sulk, occasionally eyeing each other's plates and Sanzo's newspaper.

"Banshees or specters or summat. First heard 'em about two years ago, on a day when the fog was thick like Esme's best stew. My brother was coming home from a visit in the next village over when he rode by the edge of his Lordship's land. There were flickering lights in the church, he said, and naught but eerie, unnatural silence ever'where. Then his horse, real reliable old nag, spooked like, y'see, and that's when he heard the moanin'."

"Moaning?" Gojyo looked interested despite himself.

"Moanin'! Loud and long and echoin' and comin' from everywhere at once! Up through the ground and out over the graveyard, he said. Moanin' and howls, fit to wake the dead! Well, he didn't need to hear it twicet, now did he? Set heels to his nag and thundered home the whole way! In a place like this, we take our specters and apparitions more serious'n what we do our highwaymen." Nob nodded and tugged at his ear. He leaned closer to the table, wobbling a little, and lowered his voice. "My own nephew, y'see, saw the hellhound with his own eyes! An' the she-devil drank his blood, neat as you please, too! Left him for dead on the moor, She did, with his collar torn away and his neck smeared all with his own blood. He had a dark mark like a love-bite for days an' days, he did, with the strength gone right out of him!" Nob's mouth stretched in a toothless grin. "My brother and some of the other villagers say you can hear the specters out on the moor sometimes when the fog is thick and the wind blows hard. Sometimes close to the castle, sometimes not. Don't think anyone's heard them out by the old church again, but villagefolk rarely have reason to ride down by that way. My brother only did as he'd lost his way." Old Nob sniggered then hiccupped. "Not too clever, my brother."

"Hmm, that _is_ interesting," said Hakkai quietly. "Sanzo, when we return from our investigation at the Baskervilles', do you suppose we might stop back here and have a look around that church? Perhaps we might also interview some of the villagers and the people up at the castle. It would be very enlightening to compare notes on the Baskerville hound and the hellhound from here to see how the effects were managed in both cases."

"Humph. Do what you like; it makes no difference once we've finished the job." Sanzo raised his paper again, then rolled it up and smacked Goku and Gojyo with it, all too quickly for the eye to follow. "_I told you to be still!_" he roared. Gojyo and Goku dropped the spoons they'd been jabbing menacingly at each other's plates.

"What's with you, you stinking know-it-all detective?" Gojyo tossed his spoon at Sanzo, who caught it without looking. He set it down by his own plate and reached into his coat.

"Inspector Sha. Do you want to die?" Sanzo spoke quietly as he pointed his pistol at a spot between Gojyo's eyes, and Gojyo shifted closer to Hakkai's side. "Then be _silent_ and _still_, damn you to hell!" Sanzo roared.

"Aha ha ha ha! Now, now!" Hakkai laughed again. He stood and hurried to intercept Esme, who was stumping determinedly over from behind the bar. His voice was low and his laugh charming as he placated her, gently putting his hand on her arm and steering her back to the bar. She kept looking over her shoulder to glare at Old Nob and Hakkai's companions in displeasure, but she allowed herself to be led. The good doctor, Gojyo knew, was very persuasive, and it looked as though Esme was not immune to his charms.

"We're leaving." Sanzo stood up, clamping his teeth around the stem of his pipe and stowing both his pistol and his newspaper back in his coat.

"But Sanzo! I'm not finished!" Goku exclaimed.

"I still have half a pint!" Gojyo protested.

"Silence! Get moving!" Sanzo produced the pistol from the depths of his coat again and brandished it.

"Aha ha ha! Thank you for the delicious meal and wonderful ale, mistress," said Hakkai graciously, bowing a little in Esme's direction. "I apologize for any disturbance my companions may have caused. And thank you for the information, good sir." He turned and bowed at Old Nob, too.

"Eh, it's no trouble, no trouble t'all," Nob assured him. "Stop in when you finish your business up Baskerville way; my friend is like to come down from the castle for a drink while you're here, and he can get you in to speak with Lord Kougaiji and his people, if'n you like."

"Oh?"

"Oh, aye. Body-servant to his Lordship, and all." Old Nob cocked an eyebrow at Hakkai and waggled his arthritic fingers suggestively. "If'n you know what I mean to say."

"Ah, I see. Thank you." Hakkai bowed a little again and hurried out the door to where his companions were waiting, insinuating himself deftly between Sanzo and the other two. Nob grinned and reached for his ale, but his groping hand met nothing but age-smoothed wood.

"Old fool, telling tales and spreading rumors! If I've warned you once, Nob, I've warned you a hundred times." Esme stood at his shoulder, looming and terrible, the rest of his drink fast disappearing down her throat. Nob jumped in surprise and then shrieked in dismay, his ululating cry of despair carrying over the heads of the other drinkers and floating out the open windows.

"Did you hear that, Sanzo?" asked Goku as he swung himself up into his saddle a short way down the road from the tavern.

"Humph."

"What do you suppose that is, eh?" asked Gojyo. A match flared, and he touched the flame to the end of the cigarette he'd just rolled.

"Banshee, perhaps?" Hakkai replied. He smiled as Goku shivered.

"Pfft." Sanzo touched his heels to his horse. "Hurry up, you fools. I want to make Baskerville Manor before sunset tomorrow."

"Aw, Sanzo, we're not even going to find an inn?" Goku whined.

"What? What's wrong with you, you poor little squalling baby? Too precious to ride through the night?" Gojyo needled as his horse trotted past Goku's.

"_What did you call me?_"

"You heard me, you whining wee ape!"

"_Silence!_"

Gunshots thundered through the night, and quiet reigned thereafter, broken only by the soft sound of hoofbeats and the occasional eerie wail that drifted out from the village tavern to follow the travelers westward.

-end. really.-


End file.
